Belligerence
by Gaea Blackwell
Summary: The basics: Gryffindor/Slytherin war, post-Hogwarts, secret rebel organizations, Harry-angst and Sirius-humor. Chapter four was just uploaded today - after a three-month hiatus. Hoo boy.
1. Rain, Rain on My Face

A/N: Yeah, yeah. DitR is still being written, don't worry. But I had a need to write a dark fic for once, and this was the beginning result. I'm also trying to write more complex plots without getting them completely blown out of proportion by the end of the story ;) JSYK, this takes place five years after Harry, Ron, and Hermione graduate from Hogwarts, making them in their early-twenties. Death ensues during those five years…but you'll find out about that as you read =) And "Zeusia" is pronounce "Zuce-ee-a." I made it up. But you can probably tell where it's from, anyway. Don't worry if it's a bit confusing at first – everything will be explained as the story goes. Enjoy!

Belligerence

Chapter 01: Rain, Rain on My Face

Drenched from the pouring rain, Hermione shuddered as she slipped off her cloak, trying in vain to shake the water from it before draping it over the coat rack and grabbing her thick hair in one fist. Bending over the washbasin that had been set on the floor by the door, she wrung out her hair, twisting it as the water squeezed out. Satisfied, she flung her hair over her shoulder and stood up straight, straightening her sweater. Ginny stood in the entrance to the main hallway, one eyebrow raised in an amused expression.

"Nice of you to finally join us," the red-haired girl said.

Hermione's gaze snapped upwards and she smiled as she caught sight of the shorter girl. "Oh! Ginny, I'm so sorry, that blasted, infernal broom got blown off course and before I knew it, I was miles from London…had to fly all the back. All I've done today is run around in circles!"

Ginny smiled reassuringly, and strode across the expanse of the entryway to take her friend by the hand. "It's all right. Charlie was getting worried – but that's just Charlie for you."

Hermione returned Ginny's smile, and followed quietly as Ginny led her down the hallway. The light that swamped the entrance way quickly faded out as they turned a corner and she shivered once more. The absence of light was only one more reminder…

"_Lumos!_" Ginny hissed, her many-times-taped wand flickering with blue light. The severed wood was not as effective as either of them may have hoped, but it was better than nothing. Hermione looked up from the faint light as they came upon the first doorway that led off from the hallway. Ginny raised her free hand and rapped on the door with her knuckles.

It opened slowly, creaking on its hinges. Hermione peered inside curiously, but hung back in her shyness. Ginny pushed the door the rest of the ways open, sticking her head in and holding her wand in front of her. "Fred? Hermione's here."

There was a mumbled answer, but Hermione could not distinguish the words. She bit her lip, clutching her bag in both hands. The black leather felt slick from the rain, against her skin.

Ginny brought her head back out and nodded to Hermione, moving aside so that she could enter the dim, tiny room. Casting one last look back at her friend, Hermione shut the door behind her, keeping her back to the room for a moment as she gathered her will.

"Hermy?" a voice croaked from the darkness.

Startled, she whirled around, her wet hair spraying across the room. "Fred?" she asked tentatively.

Another flickering light like Ginny's erupted from the farthest-left corner of the room. Barely visible in the faint light, she could see the outline of a gaunt and once-jovial face. A wisp of frayed red hair was flopped carelessly across the forehead. "Yes," it answered. 

Releasing her bag with one hand and still clutching it with the other, she slowly crossed the room, approaching the light. But Fred jumped away, whisking his wand out of sight. "I don't think you want to come any closer," he told her.

She stopped. Blinking, her shoulders drooped slightly. _Please don't let it be that bad…_ "Why not?"

"Because you don't want to see. Even Ginny doesn't."

Hermione sighed, bending down to set her black bag on the dusty wooden floor. "Fred…it's what I'm here for. It's my job. You've got to let me see, or else I can't help you."

She heard a light snort, as though he was trying to laugh, but had forgotten how. "You can't help me now, Hermy. I wish you could. But it's too late."

She swallowed. "It's not too late, Fred. I've helped people in worse conditions than you."

"But I'll never truly be myself, will I? I'll always be what's left of my mind - what's left of _our_ mind. It'll never be the same. My other half is gone, Hermione. You don't know what that's like. No one does."

She blew out an exasperated breath. "Fred, I'm not here for a pity party. I know you're miserable, I know you're distraught. But I know that you're Fred Weasley, and that you have more willpower than just any given man does. I know how to help you, and you stand a good chance of recovering more than you could hope. More than most people could hope."

Another snort. "Forget me, Hermione. The rest of the world already has. The curse has killed me, but more slowly than anyone can see. All I'm asking from you is to end it quickly for me."

She froze in realization. Her hands went cold and she gazed off into the darkness for a moment, perhaps hoping that she might be able to see him. But he was not to be seen. "You want me to kill you," she said at last.

"Ever the quick one," he rasped.

She licked her lips and looked upwards, as though in contemplative thought. "You know I won't do it."

Silence. There was a slight rustling, and then she heard light footsteps on the boarded floor. He was coming nearer – she could hear his breath growing in intensity, as though labored. "Yes, I know."

Standing stockstill, she swallowed as she felt his breath on the back of her neck. "Then why did you want me here? Why did you tell Ginny to owl me?"

There was silence for a moment longer – even the sound of his hard breathing had vanished. But then, inches from her ear, she heard him again. "Because you have what I need."

Gasping, she whirled to the source of the voice, just in time to see his face only inches from hers, tipped back and sucking on a vial. In his hand was her black bag, opened and the contents spilling onto the floor. She thrust out one hand, wrenching the vial away from his mouth, but it was too late. The bottle was empty. Drawing away from him as his head fell forward, she dropped the glass vial to the floor and let out an earsplitting scream.

She heard the sound of footsteps running down the hallway, just as Fred's body fell to the floor, his hands cutting on the broken glass that now littered the floor. Dropping to her knees, she cradled his head in her lap, crying softly. She barely heard Ginny scream.

"We need a report on the Weasley case."

"I'm doing my best. Are you sure there isn't someone else that could cover this one?"

"Why? Chicken?"

"I prefer to think 'a bit too close to home,' but sure, why not? I'm chicken about everything else, aren't I?"

"You were a Gryffindor, of course you're not."

"Honestly, though – are you sure I'm the only one qualified?"

"It wouldn't be assigned to you if I wasn't."

"Ah, _now_ who's the pompous, conceited jerk, hm?"

"And who's the lower-ranking individual in this conversation?"

"Always the last word, Zeusia. Always the last word."

"I don't care what you say, Hermione, I know it wasn't your fault. So stop blaming yourself – Fred was going downhill the entire time."

Hermione sighed as she dragged a hand through her tangled hair, wincing as her fingers caught a few strands. Ginny bustled across the kitchen, from the counter to the table, a coffeepot in one hand and two mugs in the other. She set both on the table and looked down at her distraught friend. "Really, Hermione. I knew this was bound to happen…it was just a matter of when."

Hermione's hand fell from her hair and slapped against the table. It hurt, but she made no expression. "But now you, Charlie, and Ron are the only ones left, Ginny! How many more of you are going to be cursed? How many other families have to suffer? The Malfoys have been entirely wiped out – Draco's in hiding. What could be so ghastly that it would want not only the good families dead, but the evil, too?"

Ginny shrugged noncommittally as she poured black coffee into the two mugs, and slid one across the table to Hermione. "I don't know. But the world's getting colder and darker and there's nothing that can stop it."

"Except Harry."

"Providing that he's alive, of course."

Hermione rolled her eyes, fingering the lip of her coffee mug. "Don't give me that. You know as well as I do that it can't be true. Harry would never give up that easily."

Ginny took a seat across from Hermione, pulling her own mug close to her and gazing down at the frothy liquid for a long moment. "But you haven't heard from him in ages. Would he really cut himself off from the world, like that?"

Hermione sighed, raising the mug to her lips and sipping from it, not caring if it burnt her tongue. "No, he wouldn't. But he wasn't necessarily acting like himself before he left either. So it doesn't surprise me."

"Harry's never acted like himself. He's never had a self to act like."

Hermione rose an eyebrow as she set her coffee mug down. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The red-haired girl bit her lip in thought for a moment, looking out the window at the dark night just outside. "It means…well…it means that Harry's never been able to be himself. Ever since he lived with the Dursleys. Back then, they hated anything he did, so he tried to disappear. At Hogwarts, everyone worshipped him, so he was trying to impress everyone, to always do the right thing. To be who everyone thought he was. And then, after Hogwarts…I don't know. He got lost, I think. Didn't you ever notice how introverted he became that first summer?"

Hermione nodded thoughtfully, staring down into the contents of her mug as the cream swirled relentlessly.

"I think he forgot why he was here. His life has always been about Voldemort, hasn't it? And now Voldemort's gone. Dead. His one constant in life is dead. I can only imagine the turmoil that must cause – I mean, what's his purpose now? What's he to do, the world's greatest wizard? The Boy Who Lived to Win, now the Boy Without a Job?"

Hermione lifted her gaze as Ginny finished, her face transparent as she finally let her worst fears loose. "You don't think he….Fred…?"

Ginny studied her for a moment, confused. "You mean, do I think he made like Fred and killed himself?"

Hermione nodded.

The younger girl bit her lip in thought and looked away. When she finally looked back at Hermione, her chin was set in determination. "No. He didn't. Harry's too strong-willed to do something like that. He's even more stubborn than Fred."

"But…"

"I know what I said. But I don't think that would be enough cause for him to kill himself. Harry would only let himself die if it would help others, if it would stop danger. But that cause hasn't arisen yet. So I wonder where he is."

Hermione sighed, tilting her coffee mug upwards and draining the last of the hot liquid. She set the mug down with a bang and scooted her chair back, scraping it against the floor. "Oh, Ginny, I hate to leave you like this. Will Charlie be all right?"

Ginny shrugged. "He was expecting it, too. I imagine he'll be distraught, but he'll recover. We still have each other, after all. And Ron won't find out for another week, not till he gets home from Austria. I imagine he'll be the worst, but Charlie and I will be okay then, so we can help him. Don't worry about us, Hermione. We'll survive."

__

If you're lucky, Hermione couldn't help thinking. But she blinked and nodded, moving across the room to embrace Ginny in a tight hug. "You're the closest thing I ever had to a sister, Ginny. I wish you were. But I'll always think of you as one."

Ginny offered her a watery smile as she pulled away. "Same to you. You better get going, I imagine you have a dozen more stops to make before calling it a day."

Hermione nodded and ducked her head shyly as she bustled down the dark hallway to the entryway. "_Accio_ cloak," she muttered, and her cloak flew from the coat rack, settling itself on her shoulders. She pulled the cords tight, tying them in a double knot around her neck. She glanced back down the hallway to see Ginny still sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded in the halo of light that the kitchen fire gave off. She sighed, grabbing her broomstick from its spot beside the doorway, and opened the door. 

Relieved to see that the rain had slowed, she closed the door behind her, and set off for her next destination.

"Harry, you've been assigned to a new case."

Harry's emerald eyes lifted anxiously, hoping for the best. "Fred's all right, then?" he questioned.

Zeusia turned to look at him then, her expression completely devoid of emotion. "No. Dead."

Harry blinked then, his limbs going numb. He wanted to ask why, how; he wanted to beg her to tell him that it wasn't true – no…that wasn't it. He wanted to scream. But his throat was numb and his lips were glued shut. Forcing back his rising rage, he swallowed thickly and nodded.

Zeusia furrowed an eyebrow, peering down at the twenty-something sitting before her desk. "You're learning. I'm proud."

Harry looked away, finally finding his voice. "I'm not learning anything. I'm just getting better at hiding."

"Exactly. You're learning."

He sighed, sinking lower in his chair. Zeusia was always full of one riddle or another, but this one scared him. This one confirmed his worst fears – they were trying to toughen him up, to ready him for any tragedy that could possibly be flung his way. People were going to die…that he knew. Fred wasn't the first, and he wouldn't be the last.

"Don't worry, it wasn't your fault. He killed himself this time."

Harry nodded in acknowledgment, but his dread didn't go away. Fred was the first suicide – that, he had to admit. He leaned his head back on the chair, closing his eyes as he let out a slow and deliberate breath. Mentally, he ticked off the names in his head…

__

Percy. Freak broomstick accident. Harry was suspicious of fraud, though. No one else believed it.

__

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Killed at Fred and George's graduation. Forty students had lost their families that day. Voldemort had made his final blow, crumbling sections of Hogwarts and wreaking havoc wherever he felt like it. Enraged, Harry had set out to find him, to seek revenge. He hadn't succeeded that year. It took him a year to avenge their deaths. But in that year…

__

Bill. Killed by Death Eaters when they broke into Gringott's. Harry had yet to understand the details of this one, but he had a feeling that he didn't want to know.

__

Lavender. She had been at the graduation the year that Voldemort attacked. He wasn't quite sure why, but thought it had something to do with a summer internship with Professor Trelawney.

And, he thought he felt that all-too-familiar twist in his stomach, _Cho_. It was too painful to remember her death.

__

And now Fred.

" – You'll have to adjust to your living conditions, of course, but I imagine you've gotten better at that in the past few years," he heard Zeusia say.

He lifted his head groggily, squinting at her. "What was that?"

Zeusia cast him a ruthless glare. "Weren't you listening?"

He sighed, taking his glasses off to rub the lenses clean. "No, I wasn't. Too busy mulling over the sudden death of a good friend, that's all," he retorted.

Zeusia stood up, slapping the manila folder she was holding to her desk, and crossed to the window that overlooked London, the stars prominent over the artificial city lights below. "This isn't the time for pity, Potter. Plenty of people in this organization have lost everything they ever had, and never once complained. You have no place to expect pity from me, or the rest of your co-Belligerents. All I'm asking is for you to set aside personal issues and focus on the task at hand. This isn't pre-school anymore, Potter."

Harry bit his lip and looked away, glasses now settled back on his nose. A chunk of dark hair fell into his eyes, but he made no move to swipe it away. "I know it isn't," he answered.

"So stop expecting me to go easy on you. You've always been the best, I know. But you aren't, here. You're still new, you're still good, but you're not the best. This new assignment will be a challenge for you."

Harry glared at Zeusia's back for a moment, but the anger he felt quickly passed and he gazed down at his lap disinterestedly. "So what's the assignment?" he asked.

She crossed back to her desk, picking up the manila folder. Extending her arm, she held it out to him as she sat down. He took it, but did not bother to open it.

"A new rebel organization was formed a few years back, but it comes from a different angle than the Belligerents do. It's based on restoring the resources we have and counseling the wizards we need. Your friend, Hermione Granger, was drafted into it a few years back. You might be familiar with it because of her, but I don't doubt that she was sworn to secrecy."

He nodded. He had remembered Hermione speaking of it more than once at dinnertime. But she had never named it.

"It's called WAR. Wizards Aiding Rebels. A sort of ironic name, but I digress. Anyhow…I need you to become our inside member."

Harry rose an eyebrow. "Not spying, I hope."

Zeusia offered him a weak smile. "No, not spying. We just need a Belligerent employed in their organization to keep tabs on them. They've managed to escape any Ministry guidelines, and they're quite unorthodox. We highly doubt that they'd ever be tempted to the Dark Arts – that _is_ what they're fighting against, after all. But we sometimes wonder how they get involved in certain situations."

"Certain situations?" he asked. Hermione had never mentioned _this_ juicy little detail…

Zeusia nodded. "They'll show up at most inconvenient times – in places that they weren't even supposed to be aware of or alerted to. Their leader is nameless – he or she prefers anonymity. We do know that Sirius Black is involved with them, and that you're well-acquainted with him, no? So between him and Hermione, you should fit in rather well, making you our best candidate. Do you accept?"

Harry sighed, rolling his eyes at her formalities. It was standard issue to always _request_ an assignment from a Belligerent, not order it. But Zeusia may as well been threatening to curse him, if he said no, for all of her asking. He nodded curtly.

"Good. I'll expect you here, tomorrow morning, 0700. Pack light. We've rented you a house near their headquarters and stocked it with any supplies you might need."

Harry nodded again and got up to leave, tucking the manila folder under his robes. As he approached the door, Zeusia called out to him. He stopped, turning to look at her.

And for once, Zeusia's face was not devoid of emotion – she almost wore a soft, motherly expression. Licking her lips as though about to say something, she looked away from him and remained silent.

The silent communication was enough. He smiled slightly and turned the doorknob. "Thanks, Zeusia," he said quietly, and ducked out the door before she had the chance to ask him what he was talking about. But they both knew perfectly well that she was capable of feelings. Her barriers were thicker than blood, but she could always break them when someone needed her to. And Harry had needed her to.

Hermione tossed her cloak onto her couch, groaning as she felt the warmth returning to her fingertips. Flicking her wand with one hand, she lit the candles that stood beside her door and crossed the living room into her kitchen, striding immediately to the stove. Drawing a teapot out of a cabinet, she filled it with water and set it on the stove, turning it on high. Leaving her wand lying on the counter, she collapsed onto one of the stools and buried her head in her arms.

Twelve stops in one night. This was getting to be too much. She closed her eyes and finally let her shoulders relax, tensed from the stress of the day's events. First Fred, and then the ghastly sights that always met her at the camps…

She hated the camps. Full of filth, disease, hunger, crying babies, depression, and desolation, they did nothing to help the refugees that took shelter in them. She always shuddered at the thought of how many people would be cramped into the next tent, how many deaths their young eyes had already seen…

But the camps were where she was needed most, and she couldn't run away from them, no matter how uneasy they made her. She had to remind the refugees that there was a chance, that people _were_ fighting…that people weren't giving up, that there was still hope.

Was there still hope?

Voldemort had died five years ago. Harry had been freed from the scar's pain. The scar was almost gone now, just a thin line on his pale skin. But the pain of Voldemort's reign was far from gone. Families were still torn from their losses and Death Eaters still roamed about the country, free as could be. There was always the imminent danger. And there was always the war.

The Hogwarts War, they called it. The war that had been conspiring for a thousand years and was not about to end, anytime soon. The division of Gryffindor and Slytherin. The limbo of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. The refugees that were caught in the middle.

Shuddering against the counter, she squeezed her eyes shut tightly, to keep the tears from escaping. She didn't want to think about it. It had been five long years. She hadn't thought about it in those five years, so why start now?

__

Because your missing best friend is the only hope for victory, she heard a voice in her mind whisper.

She growled in the back of her throat, threatening the voice to speak louder – to let her mull over the desperate conditions that the Light Arts faced. But it disappeared, only to be replaced by the shrill whistle of the teapot.

She leapt up in fright, knocking her stool over. Rolling her eyes at her own stupidity, she bent over to pick up the stool, setting it upright before going to grab the pot and pour some of the boiling water into a teacup. Setting the pot back on the stove, she turned off the stove and reached for a teabag in the cabinet over her head. Dunking it into the heated water, she set the cup onto the counter and settled back on her stool.

She could have gone through the entire process much less painfully with the aid of her wand, but she had been unable to escape some of her old Muggle habits. Food, tea, and coffee all tasted better when made the Muggle way, she had always thought. Conjured food just didn't have the right flavor. Harry had always teased her about her taste in food, but his mind had changed quickly when she made him and Ron a complete four-course meal from scratch…

Sighing, she dropped her head into her arms again, and closed her eyes. There was no teapot to awaken her from her thoughts this time.


	2. Hasn't Stopped Raining for Days

A/N: Things get a little bit lighter…and we find out what Sirius has done with himself ;)

Belligerence

Chapter 02: Hasn't Stopped Raining For Days

She had every intent of taking a cup of coffee, sitting down in her living room and vegging out with a good book for numerous hours. And then she would drift off to sleep and wake up the next morning to the very same routine – as she had every night for the past year.

That was the intent, anyway.

But after she'd woken up from her quick nap on the stool, disgusted to find that her tea had degraded itself to less-than-lukewarm, she'd dumped it down the drain and started all over again, feeling a bit more refreshed. Less muddled with her thoughts, at any rate.

But after deciding to fix a mug of coffee and flip through her Muggle television for a bit, she was a bit more than startled to see her door flung open and the hallway outside completely empty.

That was what she saw, anyway.

But then Harry had taken off his invisibility cloak, and found himself having to deal with a hysterical Hermione permanently attaching herself to him, arms flung around his neck desperately, exclaiming crazy things about thinking he was dead and wondering why he hadn't come back sooner and that Ron was going to be even more hysterical than she – 'Not a pleasant thought,' he'd thought to himself.

And once he'd managed to put some space between the two of them, the first thing she did was run off to the kitchen and start making him a cup of coffee. There was no way she was going to let him disappear again, off to save the world for the umpteenth time. He was going to stay right at home and answer a few questions.

"Like what?" he asked, as she set the coffee before him and took a seat across the counter.

She shrugged, dumping a generous amount of cream into her coffee. "Well, for one, like…gee, Harry, where the hell have you been?!"

He smirked slightly as he lifted the mug to his lips, sipping on it to keep from getting his tongue burnt. He shrugged.

"You don't know? Oh, don't give me that. You know! You have to know, because no one else does!"

He sighed, setting the mug down on the counter and leaned forward on his elbows, a lock of ebony hair dangling in his eyes. "Well, I do know. I just can't tell you, really."

"And that just makes it so much better."

He sat back, rubbing his hands together to warm them. His hair was still wet from the rain outside. "Trust me, I'd like to tell you. But it's not like you haven't kept secrets from me, before."

"I have not! I told you everything that I could about my job!"

"And I'm telling you everything that I can about mine. Absolutely nothing."

She rolled her eyes and shoved her coffee to the side. She'd lost interest in it. "You don't expect me to believe that, do you?"

"Look, Hermione, I really didn't come here to be interrogated, despite what you may think. I've been fine for the whole time I was gone, and that's what's important, right? I just have my own life now…one that doesn't include you and Ron."

"So why'd you suddenly decide to come back, if you don't need us anymore?"

He looked appalled. "I never said that!"

"You may as well have. You meant it, well enough."

Rolling his eyes, he stood from his stool and began pacing the length of the tiny kitchen. "I don't know what you're thinking, Hermione, but whatever it is, it's wrong. Just wrong. I need you and Ron because you're the only people I care about, don't you understand?"

She propped her head up with her hands then, leaning her forehead against the palms of her hands. "Oh, how did we ever get on this subject? You're home, I should be glad. Instead, I can't help being mad at you, at the same time…"

He smiled sardonically, reminding her of Sirius. "That would be called mother intuition. But that's even more wrong than before, so I won't go any further on that matter."

"I'm glad." She dropped her hands, the skin red on her face, where she had rubbed viscously at her eyes. "Harry, we've been worried sick. Everyone thinks you're dead. I almost did…but Ginny convinced me of otherwise."

He gave her an inquisitive look, settling back on the stool. "Ginny? When'd you speak to her?"

"Today, actually. Right after…" She paused. He blinked, nodding to prompt her on. "Well, Harry…Fred died."

He made no reaction. She stared at him for a moment, waiting for him to say something, to do something – _act surprised, Harry! For God's sake, you're not completely inhuman!_

Finally, he shrugged and looked away from her. "I know. I heard."

"H-how? Ron doesn't even know yet."

He looked back at her, a dead expression on his face. His eyes had gone from their usual vibrant green to dull, murky seawater. "I have my connections."

She straightened her back, narrowing her eyes slightly as she returned his look. "Your job, you mean."

He nodded.

She threw her hands into the air and leapt off of her stool, stalking towards the living room. He jumped up after her, grabbing her by the arms as she tried to shake him off. "Hermione! Will you listen to me?! I can't tell you about this job because it'll put you in danger!"

With a rough shrug, she wrenched one arm free of his grasp, only to have it retrieved once more. "Harry! Let me go!"

He did, instantly.

Backing away slightly, she glared at him with a fury worthy of a Malfoy. "Harry…why is it always about you? Don't you think I don't know that? Do you honestly think that I'm just another Parvati Patil, waiting at home for the _men_ to handle things? I'm fighting this too, Harry! I'm in danger anyway! Nothing you could tell me – _nothing_ – would make me any worse off than I already am!"

He was near gawking now. "You are not in danger. Trust me."

She crossed her arms over her chest, rolling her eyes mockingly. "Oh, no, that's right. I've got a sniper following me _just to watch my back_, Harry. I go about my daily business like normal, and when I feel a Muggle gun on my back, it's not someone that wants to kill me. It's someone that wants to give me a warning. Yeah, and you're Merlin!"

He drew in a deep breath, his jaw set in a firm line as he fought to control his rising rage. Turning back to the counter, he snatched up his invisibility cloak and dumped the remaining dregs of his coffee into her sink. "Just forget it," he muttered. "Forget I ever came back. I knew it wasn't right." He tossed his cloak over his head and she lost sight of him.

Hermione's shoulders drooped, and she sighed heavily, walking towards where she had last seen him. "Harry…Harry, don't go. We need to fix this, Harry…I can't let you go on such bad terms…!"

She heard the door slam. He was gone.

She went back to the living room and dropped herself on the couch, throwing one arm over her eyes. How could she have let this happen? Harry was her best friend…she hadn't meant to yell…but she was so frustrated. Maybe that was all it was. Just frustration. He'd come back tomorrow morning, and everything would be so much easier then. Ron would be home in a few days, and he could have it out with Harry all he wanted, because she was done. She wasn't going to yell anymore. She needed Harry and Ron too much to yell at them now.

"Oh, what have I done?" she groaned. "I'm not mad at him…The last thing I want is him mad at _me…_"

"Don't worry, he's not."

Startled, she sprang back up, looking around wildly. Had he come back? That had been his voice, she was positive…

But no, she heard a slight rustling sound coming from across the room, and then saw him lowering the hood to his cloak, seated on her favorite armchair. He was giving her a watery smile. "Invisibility cloak, remember? I never left."

Her astonished expression went to one of fury, and she yanked up the first thing she saw – a white cushion – and chucked it at his head. She missed by a good four feet.

He snorted, giving her a bemused expression. "Is that all you can do? By all means, have at it, then."

Biting her lip to keep herself from grinning, she grabbed the rest of the cushions on the sofa, and leapt to her feet, chucking them at him as she advanced on him.

He rose his arms defensively, warding off the worst of the blows, but by the time she had only one cushion left, she was standing right in front of him, the pillow raised over her head like a sword. "Oh, it's payback time," she hissed.

Without warning, he sideswiped her, taking her legs out from under her, and she went tumbling to the ground, the pillow flying out of her arms. She was vaguely aware of his hands pinning her arms down.

He was laughing. "First rule of the Belligerents – never let a weaker enemy win."

She pushed him off, and sat up, her eyes wide. "Belligerents?"

Running a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to straighten it, he nodded, still sprawled on the floor in front of the chair. "Yes, I told you. Happy now?"

"No!" she exclaimed. "Harry! What on _earth_ are you doing with those people? They're warlords!"

He rolled his eyes and sat up, leaning back against the coffee table. "That's just a rumor. They're really very good people, you know. A bit testy if they don't get their cup of joe every morning, and you better watch out if they're armed, but other than that…really very kindly folk." He wore a sideways smirk as he said this, hair dangling in his eyes once more.

It was her turn to be near gawking. "So you really are a Belligerent?"

He nodded. "And you're really a member of WAR."

The near gawk turned into a full gawk. "How'd you know about that?"

He hauled himself to his feet then, and offered a hand down to help her up. "Belligerents, remember? We can find out anything that we want to – provided that we have the permit, of course."

Taking his hand, she got up as well, and raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh, so you got a permit to look up stuff about my private life, huh? What's my mother's maiden name?"

"Holden, but that's beside the point. I didn't get the permit, Zeusia did."

"Who's Zeusia?"

Harry glanced toward the window as he leered secretively, steering her towards the kitchen. "The Almighty Goddess herself, but she likes to be known as my boss."

Hermione followed as he pushed her back into the kitchen, sitting her down on her stool. "That's probably what I missed the most, you know," she told him.

He glanced at her as he skirted around the counter, sitting across from her once more. "What is?"

"Your sarcasm. You just inject such a bitter hostility that really adds to the humor, you know? Most people have to fake it."

"Ha ha. Very funny."

"I learned from the best."

Harry rolled his eyes and went over to the coffee maker, wrinkling his nose as he stared down at the pot. "What's all this stuff do?"

Hermione swiveled around in her stool to see what he was looking at. "Hm? Honestly, Harry, have you been immersed in the wizarding world for that long?"

He shrugged. "The Dursleys never drank coffee. They didn't do a lot of things that 'normal' Muggles did…and they always thought _I_ was the weird one."

She got up and went about fixing another pot of coffee, waving him aside as he tried to help. "Stop that, you oaf. It's like potions, and you were never very good at those."

He glowered at her. "That was hurtful."

"And I had every intention of it being such. Now go sit down like a good little boy."

He snorted. "Since when have I ever been good?"

She paused for a moment, looking off in thought. "You know, I honestly don't remember. I think the last time you were pure of thought was the first day on the Hogwarts Express – just before you met Ron."

He laughed, pulling two fresh coffee mugs out of her cupboard. "You're probably right, but don't tell him I said that. He'd probably try to turn me yellow."

She looked over her shoulder at him, raising an eyebrow. "Huh?"

He looked up at her. "What?"

"What's this about turning you yellow?"

"Oh. That." He waved a dismissive hand in the air, setting the mugs on the counter. "He tried to turn Scabbers yellow the day we met. Remember? It was a prank spell that Fred and George taught him."

She nodded. "Yeah, I remember now." But she had looked away at the mention of the Weasley twins. His tone had grown a bit more subdued as he named them, but he tried to shrug it off. An uncomfortable silence passed between them as Hermione turned away from the coffeepot, letting it drip.

Harry finally cleared his throat, and looked up at her. "So how's George?" he finally asked.

She blinked for a moment, and then her lips parted in stunned realization. "Oh no…you don't know, do you?"

He froze. "Don't tell me…"

She shook her head slowly. "No…no, not dead. But part of the reason that Fred is, apparently."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, one of the last things he said to me was 'my other half is gone.'"

Harry sighed, dropping down onto his stool as he let his forehead rest atop his arms, groaning quietly. "He's as good as dead then, isn't he?" he murmured.

Hermione leaned against her side of the counter, reaching out to brush a lock of his hair back. "No…I don't think so. He was in a coma, the last I heard, Harry. It's only been a month or so…he has a pretty good chance."

He lifted his head, and she could see bright splotches of red dotting his cheeks. "He can't die, Hermione. He just can't."

She tilted her head to the side a bit, her eyes softening with concern. "I know, it would be awful."

"You don't understand," he whispered. "He can't die."

"Why not?"

"I couldn't handle another death, Hermione. Another death caused by me…I can't handle that."

She fell silent, and then wordlessly skirted the counter, pulling him off of the stool and embracing him in a tight hug. His head fell onto her shoulder and his arms wrapped themselves around her waist. She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent of soap and shaving cream before pulling slowly away, staring into his eyes, and searching for any more remorse that he may have been trying to hide.

He looked away, running a shaky hand through his hair. "I'll be all right," he said quietly.

"No you won't," she answered.

He looked back at her, his hand falling back to his side. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Harry, the Belligerents are not for you…they're cold, heartless killers. They think they're making peace, but they're doing it the wrong way. They're all about being emotionless – living life without living it. You're not like that, Harry. You're the farthest person from it."

He shrugged, giving her a sardonic smile as he settled back on the stool, cupping his chin with one hand. "They may be, but it's where I belong."

"But you're not happy there. How can you say that?"

"Because I have nowhere else to go, Hermione. I have no one but you, Ron, and Sirius – Merlin knows where _he_is these days – to count on, I have nothing else in life. I never had a family. The Dursleys hated me, you know that. I never had a home to go to during holidays. All I had was Hogwarts, and now that's been completely desecrated, destroyed, what have you. There is no more Hogwarts. There's no more Voldemort. But the evil took the good with it, Hermione. All that's left in my world is darkness. It's one big, empty void, and I'm scared to take a step forward, because I might fall off a cliff. At least you've got the murky, gray reassurance that someone'll catch you."

And she put her arms around him again, hugging even more tightly, even after she became aware that she was probably cutting off his air supply. "I'll catch you, Harry. And so will Ron."

"Mr. Black?"

Sirius groaned, one hand covering his eyes as he tried in vain to nurse a forthcoming migraine, but it didn't make matters any better. "Yes, Priscilla?"

"There's a message for you waiting on the Network. Should I forward it to your office?"

He nodded as he rubbed at his eyes, trying to keep them open long enough to look awake and lively – two things he hadn't known for well over a year.

Priscilla disappeared, closing his door behind her, and he turned to look into his fireplace, leaning his desk chair back. It took a moment, but soon the flames were turning a nasty red color, and then flickered from blue to green, and finally back to their normal orange, as a head appeared in the midst of them. 

"Hey, Sirius!" Hermione said, positively glowing.

Sirius blinked once, then twice for good measure. "Hermione? Shouldn't you be sleeping? It's two in the morning there!"

She just grinned at him. "I should be, yeah, but I've got a surprise for you."

He rose one inquisitive eyebrow. "I know you too well, Hermione. You've been hanging around those Weasleys too long…don't tell me they've devised another prank…"

"I'm afraid that's impossible now, Sirius. Fred's no longer with us," came a much more subdued voice.

Sirius leaned forward in his chair, his eyes growing wide as dinner plates. "_Harry?_"

"The one and only."

Sirius got off of his chair and crawled towards the fireplace on his knees. "I don't believe it! I thought you were dead!"

Harry just shrugged, blowing a few wisps of fire away from his mouth as he spoke. "That's what I've been hearing. I assure you; I'm alive and well. I'll be staying with Hermione for awhile, just so you know."

Sirius sat back on his heels, and held up a hand for Harry to silence himself for a moment. "Priscilla!" he called out.

The door swung open a moment later, and his secretary, a thin and gum-snapping young witch, poked her head inside, her perfectly-made-up lips pursed in curiosity. "Yes, Mr. Black?"

"Get me a connection to #1762 on the Floo Network, as soon as you possibly can. And cancel all of my appointments for the rest of this week."

Popping her gum in answer, she took her head back out of the room, and closed the door.

Sirius looked back to his fireplace, grinning from ear to ear. "I'll be there by morning, Harry. Tell Hermione to make a bed for me on the couch, I'll probably just sleep all day."

Harry shook his head at his godfather, disbelieving his unpredictability. "You're unbelievable, Sirius. You really are. Don't you have to work or something, like normal people?"

"But you forget, I'm not normal."

Hermione was now in the midst of the flames, having shoved Harry aside. "I'll make you a bed, Sirius, don't worry. You can stay as long as you like."

Sirius smiled toothily at her and saluted. "Always on task, Ms. Granger – as expected. I think you deserve a raise for this one."

She grinned at him, and grunted as Harry shoved her aside once more. "What's this about a raise? Sirius…are you Hermione's _boss_?"

Sirius bit his lip to keep from grinning again, and stood up, holding his back as it groaned in protest. He didn't answer Harry.

"SIRIUS!"

"Goodnight, Harry." He waved a hand, and fire disappeared into a pile of glowing embers, but he could still hear Harry calling out to him. "Answer me, Snuffles!"

Sirius just shook his head as he sat back on his desk chair, and leaned his head back, spinning around in a daze. So he was going home again…this was going to be interesting, all right.


	3. My World is a Flood

A/N: Ah, we finally discover some of the back-story! This part may get a bit confusing, but if you read slow enough to catch all the details, you won't have a problem. J Also, I know very little about Auschwitz-Birkenau and other such Nazi camps from WWII, so I'll probably be taking a bit of time off to research those (I really do have a life. Honestly…). Flashback warning halfway through – it's marked by ***'s. The "coffee scene" as I've grown accustomed to referring it as, was a direct result of getting addicted to the daft stuff myself, and listening to Jars of Clay's "Good Coffee, Strong Coffee" song way too many times in one week. JKR owns all but Zeusia, WAR, Belligerents, and Karina. Sirius-humor (an oxymoron?) warning at the end.

And thank-you to my faithful beta reader, Padfoot – er…Puck/Sirius/Dimitri Freak. You still owe me illustrations for MH!

Belligerence 

Chapter 03 – My World is a Flood

Harry chanced another glance at his watch once more, cringing as he saw the minute hand ticking past the twelve. The hour hand was pointing at the seven already. He was going to be late. Sighing, he cursed under his breath and dragged a hand through his hair, shoving his coffee mug to the side of the counter as he stood from the stool and drew his Invisibility cloak over his head. Hermione was fast asleep, so he needn't bother saying goodbye. Checking to make sure that his wand was safely in his back pocket, he Disapparated from Hermione's flat in London.

Less than a moment later, he was standing on a dim street corner in Liverpool, his Invisibility cloak still wrapped securely around his shoulders. It was an added security, and really not needed, but Zeusia had always insisted that he keep it on whenever he was outside of the Headquarters – an action explained by her "den mother" instinct, he had thought at first. But she had other reasons, he'd realized later on. Harry had been a Belligerent for less than five years. Most of the others were getting on in age – they'd been members for upwards of twenty years. He was still inexperienced. His defense resume amounted only to the battles that Voldemort had forced him into, while the other Belligerents were almost known to go _looking_ for fights. There was one Belligerent, Shady Clemens, who had once tracked a Death Eater for four years, just for the opportunity to fight him. Unfortunately, the Death Eater had won.

But despite his inexperience, despite his novelty, Harry quickly found that he was one of the protected Belligerents. It was rather a degrading role – having bodyguards hired to watch your back, the heads thinking that you couldn't take care of yourself. But it was also a rank of recognition. It meant that he was valuable, that his "talents" couldn't be wasted. They gave him special privileges – like the ability to visit Hermione that day – and they forced him to take extra precautions.

The cloak was merely one of those precautions. Zeusia had made that quite obvious to him.

He'd never expected her to like him. He hadn't even thought that she might. But he had hoped, on a whim, that she might feel a bit more protective towards him…almost motherly. A mother never had to like her children. But she always felt the need to keep them safe, to give them better lives than hers. But after his first week of training, Zeusia had made it quite plain to him that all Belligerents were meant to die in their line of work – and being protective would only get more people killed than necessary.

But that never made him stop thinking of her as a mother figure.

Like now, for instance. She'd be furious at him for being late. She'd said 0700, precisely. If he were only seconds late, she'd already be pacing her office, her imagination running towards less favorable possibilities of his whereabouts. He sighed, rolling his eyes as he saw that the minute hand was almost to the one. Five minutes late. She'd be pulling out her hair by now.

Protection, indeed.

He snatched his wand out of his pocket, touched it to the lamppost, and the brick wall behind him morphed itself into the Belligerent main entrance. Sticking his wand back into his pocket, he whisked off the cloak as he strode through the door, clicking it shut behind him. The wall would once again appear as a brick wall to the outside world, but all he could see was a window that overlooked the street below. He rolled the cloak up in his arms, tucking the bundle against his chest.

The secretary was busy with a crossword. He rolled his eyes in annoyance as he saw the title. She was still working on the same one from last week.

"Madelyn? Is Zeusia in?"

Madelyn's head snapped up, her big eyes wide in wonder. "I don't know…she never leaves, does she? I haven't seen her come in, but the night girl didn't say anything about her _leaving_ last night_…_"

Harry sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. When Zeusia didn't go home for the night, that was never a good sign. "All right. Thanks." He brushed past the desk, pushing his way through a door labeled "Authorized Wizard Personnel Only." Madelyn peaceably went back to her crossword.

It only took him another minute or two to reach Zeusia's top-level office, but that made him seven minutes late. _Bet she's called code red by now_, he mused to himself.

Sure enough, Zeusia was pacing in front of her window when he came in, hands folded behind her back. He cleared his throat as he lay the Invisibility cloak on a corner of her desk, and she spun around, an unreadable expression plastered on her face – as usual.

"Harry. Nice of you to finally join me."

He shrugged noncommittally, dropping into his usual chair. "You said to be here at 7. I was very precise, really. 7 hours and 7 minutes."

"None of your wisecracks," she snapped, but the accusing tone in her voice was quickly fading.

He smiled crookedly as she came back to her desk, settling down into her own chair. She pulled out yet another manila folder, opening it as she laid it out on her desk. "Well, now that you've accepted the WAR position, this should make things easier…we're moving you out of the dormitory complex."

He had to hold himself back from cheering. The dormitory complex was where the Belligerents were housed. Whether the heads didn't trust them to maintain a good standard of living on their own, or it was yet another protection method, he had yet to discover. But it was also where the trainees stayed before they were made into full-time Belligerents – and they had plenty of free time to wreak havoc in the area. Loud parties were the norm, and like a typical college campus, most of the senior officers and higher-ranking individuals wished to leave as quickly as possible. The rooms were rather old and cramped, anyway. There wasn't much need for a comfortable home though, as most Belligerents spent more time on a task than they did at home. He couldn't believe his good fortune. It usually took a talented Belligerent ten or more years before they earned the right to move into the housing complex. 

But Zeusia didn't stop to think about what she had said. Instead, she was flipping through the contents of the manila folder, biting her lip in thought. He was curious now. Surely moving him into a better home was not part of her "Harry-protection"?

"Zeusia…you'll pardon me for asking, but why am I being moved out?"

She looked up then, blinking in disbelief. "Really, Harry. You're not that dense, are you?"

Whatever answer he had expected, this was not it. "Er…I like to hope not."

She sighed, closing the folder. "Harry, you're not a full-time Belligerent anymore. You're a member of WAR. Or you will be, once you get that friend of yours, Hermione, to get you in. Until then, though, you can't be associated with the Belligerents. You need an actual address, a life to account for. When you entered the Belligerents, you lost all of that. Most records of your existence were destroyed. People still know you, of course. But all personal files are carefully guarded now. The only people with access to them are you and I. WAR is not into classification, though. And they would never permit a Belligerent to join their ranks, so you're undercover. Did I forget to mention that?"

He nodded, eyes narrowed considerably.

She ignored his glower, opening another of her desk drawers and pulling out a green folder. "These are your personal files – copies of them, of course. They contain everything you'll need to prove your identity. Until then, you need an actual address. Floo Network #4519 doesn't exactly cut it. So we've rented you a flat in London. Didn't I already tell you that?"

He nodded slowly. He had forgotten that little detail – thoughts of Fred must have muddled his memory during that spiel, as well.

"At any rate, you're now Harry James Potter, aged 23 years and living at Apt. 2B, 23 Rodney St., Islington, London." 

He raised an eyebrow. "And you're sure Floo Network #4519 won't cut it?"

She smirked vaguely. "Positive."

He sighed, taking the green folder from her as she offered it, and sat back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling. "Well, all right then."

But she did not wave him off, as normal. Instead, she leaned her elbows on her desk, steepling her fingers together in front of her face. "Now, Harold James Potter. There's the matter of where you were all night."

He looked up from the folder. "What about it? I'm allowed to go out, you've told me so."

"Yes, but you have a curfew. Midnight. Otherwise, we assume that you've been taken under the custody of unauthorized wizards, against your will. You never reported to your dormitory last night."

He shrugged, sticking the folder under his cloak. "I was visiting an old friend."

Her left eyebrow rose in curiosity. "Indeed."

"Yeah, and I was actually thinking of just staying with her. My godfather's coming in from New York today, you see, and he was going to stay with her – I hate to not be able to visit with him while he's here. I haven't seen him in five years."

Zeusia didn't look amused at his seeming sentiment. "I'm afraid that's not possible."

"Well, why not? It's Hermione, the one that already works for WAR. Wouldn't it only help, for me to stay with her while I'm trying to get into it as well? They'd know I was trusted, that way."

But Zeusia merely shook her head. "Not only would it appear inappropriate…" she started, but the look on his face made her back away from that tactic. "Well, you really must admit how it _appears_, Potter. But never mind that. The fact is that WAR already suspects us of keeping surveillance on Hermione, and if you were to be discovered at any time – having actually _lived_ with her – it'd be their clincher. They'd have all the evidence they needed to nip us in the bud."

"What? Why do they think we're watching Hermione?"

"Because we are."

Harry groaned, rubbing at his eyes as his head fell back against the chair. "How many of my friends' lives are you going to disrupt? What'd _she_ do to deserve your suspicion, Zeusia? What horribly drastic crime has she committed, to deserve this kind of treatment?" He stood up then, crossing to her desk, and leaning forwards against it. "If she dies like Fred, Zeusia, I swear I'll kill somebody. Or Ron! If you so much as _touch_ Ron, I'll blow this place up in a second flat."

Zeusia remained impassive, staring right back at him as he quietly seethed. "Harry, sit down."

"Maybe I don't want to sit, Zeusia. Hermione and Ron are the only real friends I have. You've already managed to kill off everyone else I ever cared about. Why not give it a rest, huh?"

"Harry, you are a _Belligerent_. It comes with the territory. Now sit down, because I think you're going to feel rather stupid if you continue in this manner."

He rolled his eyes and turned away from her, plopping back down in his chair. His wand jabbed into his spine, but he didn't worry about it. It hadn't snapped in twelve years, and it wasn't about to. But his temper was now on the verge of breaking, and he feared that slightly more.

It was true, of course. Fred had been suspected of Dark activity. George, too, to some extent. He hadn't known that George had been attacked, but he had known about Fred – mainly because he had been put in charge of Fred's investigation. Despite his own biased opinion, Zeusia had thought Harry would be the perfect person to head the surveillance. If Fred ever spotted him, he wouldn't suspect a thing. Unfortunately, the constant spells that had to be placed on Fred to test his personality had taken the side effects to an extreme and resulted in his suicide. The side effects alone had apparently nearly killed George – and then there was the question of whether or not George would try to commit suicide as well.

And Cho.

He snapped his head to the side, biting his lip forcefully to keep from thinking about that. It wasn't any use to think about the past. That was one of the first things he'd had to learn as a Belligerent. But it was an old lesson, and he'd learned it rather quickly.

"Harry, we don't suspect Hermione of anything. We're trying to protect her. Ron, too."

Zeusia had his attention once more, and he blinked in confusion. "Protect her? Why? She's a Muggle-born…you usually just let them be herded into concentration camps. In fact, why isn't she in one now?"

Zeusia shrugged. "She's powerful enough to be needed by WAR. And she's useful – she can sneak food into the camps, disguised as just another refugee. Quite a strategy, I must admit. Most Ministry agents don't think that Muggle-borns or Squibs walk freely anymore. Not since the Slytherins took over the Ministry, anyway."

He remembered that day. Fudge had given up his position, Dumbledore had vanished into exile, and Hermione had come running to his flat, nearly banging down his door in her panic.

******

January 27, 1999

"HARRY!"

He grumbled, rolling out of bed and hitting the floor with a satisfactory thud. His hair was mussed considerably, and he tried in vain to swipe some of it out of his eyes, but it just stuck up in the back. Grabbing a t-shirt off of the back of a chair beside his bed, he yanked it over his head and bare chest and threw the sheets back onto his bed. Snatching his glasses from his nightstand, he jabbed them onto his face, not caring if they dangled crookedly off of his nose. He let out a mighty yawn, leaving his bedroom and crossing the living room to the front door, his mouth still half-open as he unlocked the door and swung it open. 

Hermione stood there, her hair matted to her forehead with rainwater and her robes in utter disarray. She had bags growing under her eyes, as though she hadn't slept in days. Even her wand looked desolate as it jutted out of her cloak pocket.

He was instantly jolted awake by the sight of her, and moved aside, waving her in. He closed the door as she came in, Hermione holding her head high in pride. She stopped as she reached the middle of the living room, and turned to face him. And then she broke down into tears.

He was at a loss. He had no idea what to do – much less what had happened. So he just shoved his hands into the pockets of his cut-offs and stared at the floor for a minute while her sniffling slowed. When it seemed that she had restored her natural calm, he lifted his eyes and cleared his throat uncertainly. "Wh-what happened, Herm?" he asked.

She sank onto his couch, wriggling out of her cloak and tossing it on the arm of the couch, beside her. She crossed her arms over her chest and drew in a deep breath, ending it by biting down hard on her lip. He ran a hand through his hair, wincing as it got caught in a tangle, and sat down beside her. Her head fell onto his shoulder as another round of tears came down.

"Hermione! For Merlin's sake, you never cry like this…what happened? Was it Dumbledore…?"

She shook her head.

He paused, hoping that the answer to the next question would be no, as well. "S-Sirius…?" Another shake. He breathed a sigh of relief. "Ron, then?" She just kept shaking her head, and he sighed deeply. "Well, it can't be that bad then, can it? Unless it's Lupin…"

"No, Harry," she whimpered, lifting her head and looking up at him. "It's not Lupin. It's me."

He blinked in astonishment. "What? But…What?!"

She sat up, tucking the loose strands of her hair behind her ears and sniffling back more tears. "Fudge gave up the Ministry. Malfoy's Minister now. He already ordered the removal of any Muggle-borns from the schools…and I heard through the grapevine that his next plan of action is to start shipping the Muggle-born Azkaban prisoners to the old concentration camps in Germany and Poland, left over from Grindelwald's days. He's slowly turning the Ministry into his own Nazi regiment, Harry."

He blinked again, this time unsure of his reaction. Should he be scared? Furious? Sad? He glanced down at Hermione as she lay her head on his shoulder again, her body convulsing as she shook with sobs, and he narrowed his eyes. He would never be _sad_ about this…nor would he be scared. He wasn't scared when Voldemort tried to kill him – however many times that had been. But someone wanted his best friend dead, and he wasn't about to let that happen.

He was more than furious. He was downright vengeful.

He finally put his arms around her and hugged her tightly, trying to quiet her. "Listen, Hermione…they're not going to take you, I promise. Okay? You're a more powerful witch than any Malfoy…than most purebloods. The weaker ones might go without a fight, but I'm not about to let you do that. You're going to fight this, and you're going to win."

She looked up at him, face still wet from the rain and now from the onslaught of tears. "They want me dead, Harry. Dead. Not just isolated, taken away from the world, like everyone else. They're targeting _me._"

His eyes narrowed. "That just gives you all the more reason to fight them. You're valuable to our side, if they want you dead. You have to keep out of their reach, you have to help destroy them."

She sighed, pulling away from him. "I can't be of any help if I'm dead, Harry. Once Malfoy has your name on his execution list, you don't get taken off. I'm never going to be safe again, am I?"

"Not unless Malfoy dies first."

Hermione stood up then, crossing to his picture window with her arms folded limply against her chest, biting her lip once more. "I thought we killed this, Harry. We killed Voldemort."

Harry shrugged, staring at the wall in front of him. "Voldemort may be dead, but he was only one of many Dark wizards, throughout time. He had the power to kill and he took advantage of it. That's the difference between he and I. I have the power, too, but I don't use it. I'm good. He was evil. Evil will never die. There will always be someone with the power to kill that uses it. Hopefully, there will always be someone with the power to kill that doesn't use it, as well. It's my job to be that person, for now. I can't kill evil. But evil will kill me, one day, and I've accepted that. But I won't ever let it kill you or Ron first. Know that, Hermione. You hear me? Malfoy won't touch you, if I can help it."

Hermione drew in a long breath, her gaze focused on the street below Harry's flat. "That doesn't make this any easier, you know."

He gave her a watery smile, getting up as well. "Whoever said it would be easy?"

*****

"So Hermione makes our job easier without knowing it?" he asked Zeusia.

Zeusia shook her head impatiently, fingering a paperclip absentmindedly. "No. She's doing the job that WAR orders her to. Whether it aids us or not isn't any of their concern. They don't even know we exist – or aren't supposed to, anyhow. But we know little about them, and that's where you come in. We need you to find out who their Head is, Harry. He's still nameless. Sirius and Hermione are the only ones that we can trace to the organization. We're not even sure if there _are_ more members. If not, why aren't they as easy to detect as your godfather and friend?"

Harry sighed forcibly, sinking lower in his chair. "So I _am_ spying on them."

"Not necessarily. You're really doing this for your own good."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Zeusia shrugged innocently. "Well, let's just put it this way. The Slytherins have their own reasons for wanting your friends dead. Not exactly for your typical reasons, either. But that's a story for another time and day, and _no,_ don't bother asking. I'm not going to answer. You need to get reacquainted with this Sirius person and move into your new flat."

He started to say something, but she cut him off, raising a hand into the air. "Yes, Harry. Your new flat. You are _not_ to be staying with Hermione, and that's final. Nor are you to have friends stay with you at your flat. That includes the Weasley fellow."

Harry sighed, rolling his eyes in annoyance. "Whatever you say, Zeusia."

"Now get out of here before I have you deported from the country for insubordinance."

Hermione still hated the camps. They just got dirtier, uglier, and more crowded with every passing day. Either the refugees were multiplying like bunny rabbits, or the camps were shrinking. With a disgusted thought, she remembered that the camps _had_ been enchanted after all, so maybe they really were shrinking – right into oblivion.

Auschwitz –Birkenau was her least favorite. A fifty-year-old stench of death still hung in the air, concealed only by the newer stench of the living refugees living within its walls. It was always her last stop, because it was the farthest to fly by broomstick. Deep within the borders of Poland, it was hardly a stone's throw from her comfortable flat in London, but it still made her uneasy to think that any such thing could exist anywhere in Europe, let alone the entire world.

But the thing she hated most about it was Karina Sineth.

Karina was ten. Just the coming-of-age for modern wizards, and yet she would never receive a Hogwarts owl. She had probably never even heard of Hogwarts. It was abandoned when she was only five, after all. And then the Ministry, under direction of Lucius Malfoy, had forced her family onto the deportation train, whisking them off as one of the first families to live in the camps. And even when Malfoy had died as a result of political assassination, they had remained, pinned in by their own fears and death threats. Malfoy's death _had_ meant freedom for several people, including Hermione herself, but the Sineth's were not among them. Then, of course, the Slytherins had attacked the position of Minister, ousting the singular-person role and making it suitable for an oligarchy.

Karina could barely remember England, and she told Hermione so several times. Hermione had been sneaking into Auschwitz since the beginning of her WAR training, and had watched Karina grow into the girl she was now, with a certain mourning in her heart. But Karina had never noticed this subdued characteristic of Hermione's personality on any of Hermione's many visits. It was partly because Karina had blinded herself to such darkness.

And that was why Hermione hated Auschwitz, hated what it stood for, and hated its dark purpose.

But as Karina ran out of her family's bunk, thin cotton robes flying out behind her and dirty hair pulled back into two messy pigtails, Hermione's hate dissipated in an instant. She enfolded the girl in her arms, kissing her cheek as had become the Auschwitz welcome.

"Aunt Mia!" Karina called out, beckoning the other children forth and referring to Hermione by her codename. She had tried to be careful to avoid detection by the guards, but the children didn't seem to be aware of the danger that encircled Hermione whenever she flew over the Auschwitz gates.

At Karina's call, a swarm of children appeared from their bunkers, all clad in thin cotton robes that could not hope to keep them warm in the settling cold of the season. Hermione hugged them each in turn, whispering in each of their ears to retrieve their parents. They did so, leaving much more reluctantly than they had come.

But she was not fooled. These children were not drawn to her because of their lack of hope. Well, that might be part of it. But they loved her because she always had some treat or another for one of them. But this week was for Karina. 

And so, as the parents began drifting towards the newcomer, pillowcases slung over their backs to store the food she had brought, Hermione dug about in her heavy cloak's pocket until she found the tiny brown package. She handed it discreetly to Karina as the first of the adults came to her, and then set about her business of unshrinking the food that was stored in her own bag, distributing it to everyone that offered open hands. Karina did not open her package, but remained beside Hermione, helping her to dig out the rations that were allowed to each family.

Once the food was gone and the families had returned to their bunkers, Hermione drew Karina under the shade of a shoddy building, one once used as an extermination chamber, grinning from ear to ear. "Well?" she said. "Open it, Karina!"

The girl returned Hermione's smile, and tore the paper wrapping from the package, finally pulling out a shiny, golden chain with a lion pendant dangling from it. It was a locket. Hermione took it from her, prying it open. "You see this picture, Karina? This is of me." She pointed to the left side of the locket and then to the right. "And these are my best friends. If you ever get out of here, you tell your Mum and Daddy to look for these people, all right? You can trust any one of us with your lives." She clicked it closed, and then looped the chain over Karina's head, settling it around the girl's neck.

Karina peered down at the pendant, her chestnut eyes sparkling at the gold. "Why is it a lion? I thought lockets were hearts."

Hermione smiled again, and shook her head. "No. This locket is a magical one, not like those cheap Muggle toys. You can talk to the people in this one. And it's a lion because it stands for Gryffindor."

"The victors," Karina immediately replied.

Hermione nodded. "The victors. Gryffindor will win, yes. But before the war began, Karina, Gryffindor was the house of bravery. Only courageous wizards could be Gryffindors. I was a Gryffindor, Karina, and I'm sure that you would be, too, had Hogwarts survived."

Karina beamed up at her, and threw her arms around her "aunt's" neck. Hermione smile, hugging the girl back. "Now go back to your parents, Karina. But don't tell them about the locket yet. You can tell them when you get back home, to England."

Karina nodded, and with one last forlorn glance at Hermione, she ran back to her family's bunk, her white robes flying out behind her once more.

Sighing, Hermione watched the girl leave, her shoulders drooping slightly. _She's so much like me, when I was that age…_she thought. But then, with slight amusement, _What am I saying? I was much more annoying than that._

Whisking her broom out from behind the ancient building, she mounted it, steered it towards the sky, and took off, heading towards her next destination. But as she had always thought when entering or leaving a camp, it was still bothersome that none of the camps were guarded from invaders on broomsticks.

Harry was less than happy when he got home. He'd managed to convince Zeusia that he should be allowed to visit his friends whenever he wanted (seeing as how she had practically kidnapped him into the Belligerents' service for the five months that he had disappeared from the wizard world – not to mention the past five years of his life), but he still hadn't had any success on the matter of staying with Hermione and Sirius. But he thought, with a wry grin on his lips as he tapped his wand to Hermione's door and whispered, "_Alohomora_," _She never did say that I couldn't live with Ron – just that Ron couldn't live with me. Oh, what a tangled web we weave…_

But thoughts of living arrangements were pushed to the back of his mind as he opened the door to find Sirius sprawled out on Hermione's couch, his long legs protruding over the arm and one of his arms dangling over the side. His arms were long enough that his fingertips were brushing the carpet, and the blanket Hermione had given him was hardly large enough to suffice, but he seemed to sleeping soundly, as the sound of his snoring was loud enough to wake the dead. Harry snickered as he shuffled into the kitchen and busied himself with figuring out how to make coffee for himself.

After one busted mug and a small electrical shock that set his hair on its ends, he decided to give up the Muggle ways and conjured himself a cappuccino. He scowled at the electrical outlet as it gaped back at him with a mouth that resembled snake fangs.

Sirius walked in just as Harry was beginning to make faces at it. The elder raised an eyebrow as he scratched behind his ear. "Harry…the last time I checked, inanimate objects usually don't have the required attacking capabilities to harm someone. There's really no need to provoke them."

Harry froze, his cheeks reddening rapidly. He turned away from the kitchen's entrance, raising his mug to his mouth in an attempt to hide his chagrin. Sirius merely laughed, padded into the kitchen and whisked his wand at the counter. A cup identical to Harry's appeared on his side of the counter, and he took a seat on the stool that Hermione had occupied just the night before. 

"So we've become beatniks, have we?" Sirius asked, raising a precocious eyebrow as he lifted the mug to his lips, sipping on it after blowing a stream of air over the hot liquid.

Harry furrowed his brows in confusion. "Beatniks?"

"Yeah. You know…Bongo drums, beat poetry. Chugging coffee like it's an endangered species and bouncing around like spastic puppets from the influential amount of caffeine?"

Harry only furrowed his brows more tightly together.

Sirius sighed. "Never mind. Must be an American thing."

Harry shrugged, tilting his mug and finishing off the last of his coffee. "I can't help it, at any rate. Hermione's got me addicted to the stuff."

"Aye. You should see the Americans."

Harry scoffed as he stood from his stool, carrying his mug to the sink, and leaving it there for Hermione to wash out. He imagined that he'd hear complaints about it later, but didn't particularly care. "So you were in America all this time?" he asked his godfather.

Sirius nodded, peering down at the countertop, as he suddenly became interested in the patterns of the dots covering it. "Yeah. Stationed there by WAR. We needed a Headquarters separated from England, to keep from getting our business interfered with. I'm not really Hermione's boss, as you thought last night, but I do have close ties with her boss and could probably influence him into promoting her, but I don't bother. She wouldn't want me to, anyway."

"Why not?"

"Oh, you know Hermione. Wants to earn everything herself. Can't blame her, really. She's got to make a name for herself, doesn't she?"

"Because she's a Muggle-born? Yeah."

"I mean, it's already rough for her. I'd like to make it easier, but she won't let me. Sometimes, I – "

But Harry did not hear what Sirius sometimes did, because the front door opened then, and Hermione strode inside, her hair windswept and an old broom in one hand. Her cloak was wet from rain again. "_Why_ won't these rainstorms go away?" she exclaimed as she entered the kitchen. "Daft things are gonna flood us all out into the ocean! Or worse yet – right into France!"

Harry grinned behind his hand as she shook her hair out, sending water droplets spraying everywhere. "Admit it, Hermione. You only hate France because that's where Fleur lived."

She froze, blinking as she looked up at him. She was about to start wringing her hair into the sink, her mass of thick hair pulled together in one fist. "Say that again, Harry Potter, and I swear I'll drench you."

Sirius smirked. He was just going to let this one play itself out…

Harry held his hands up defensively. "All I said was that you don't like France because of Fleur. I never said you were _jealous_ or anything, because Ron liked _her_ in fourth year…" He started backing away at the murderous look on her face.

Her eyes narrowed to mere slits, and she flung her hair back, sending water in Sirius' direction. He ducked under the counter, taking his coffee mug with him. Her hand found her wand, and she pulled it out swiftly, aiming it straight at Harry's face. "_Aqua!_" she exclaimed.

Harry gave her a gloomy look as a cloud appeared over his head, cracking a loud burst of thunder as a tiny downpour rained down on him. "Very funny, Hermy. Ha ha. The old cartoon joke was funny _once_. It's just plain annoying now."

Sirius' hand popped up over the edge of the counter. "I find it rather hilarious this time as well, you know. Please, Hermione, continue."

Harry looked like he could kill. "You're not helping, Snuffles!"

Sirius dropped his hand from out of their view. "Please, Harry. No name-calling. Or I might have to start calling you by _your_ nickname."

"Which would be?"

"Bambi, of course. Poor old Prongs, getting killed by the mean, nasty hunters…I didn't notice a fire, though." He snapped his fingers. "I _knew_ I forgot something that night!"

Harry threw Sirius the most malignant scowl that he could muster, while Hermione had an angelic smile on her face as she watched the rain pour on Harry, not caring that it was now flooding her linoleum floor. "Oh, this is just precious. You look like a stranded kitten, Harry."

He glared for a moment before he saw that familiar look in her eyes. "Oh, no you don't! Have you forgotten that my godfather is part-dog?!"

She merely smirked at him. "Yeah, you're right. That would be cruel. I'm tired, anyway." She waved her wand once more and ended the spell. Harry continued to glare at her for a moment before waving his own wand and drying off the floor. 

A large black dog then peeked around the corner of the counter, staring pointedly at Harry and wagging its tail expectantly. Harry shifted his glare from Hermione to Padfoot, rolling his eyes to add to the effect. "She's not going to do it, Sirius. Down, boy."

They heard a "pop!" then, and Sirius returned to his human form, pouting. "Sorry," he said. "All I heard was 'kitten'…"


	4. Slowly I Become One with the Mud

Salut! I have returned after a much-needed hiatus - with Chapter Four! *winces at the rotten tomatoes being chucked at her head* Hey now . . . no need for meaningless violence. Save it for Voldemort.

Anyway, seeing as how it's been so long since I posted a chapter, and since my wonderful Padfoot wrote out this summary for herself anyway, I'm gonna give you a brief synopsis (though, if you haven't actually read the previous chapters, I do recommend it, because while I commend Padfoot for her Gryffindor-like efforts, I sometimes question her sanity):

"Voldemort has been defeated. After Voldemort's defeat, Harry felt kind of like a rebel without a cause. No Voldemort, no constant danger, no need to be a last second hero . . . no real purpose. In search of purpose he went to join the Belligerents, which Dumbledore had suggested to him at the time. It was a group that supposedly "fought evil." Harry got in and disappeared from the world, his friends, AND his godfather! How dare he! But things are still bad. Really bad. Worse than with Voldemort. Without their original leader's calculating mind the Slytherins (Death Eaters) have run amok. Mudbloods are in concentration camps. Hermione now works for WAR, an organization that was started to battle all the newfound chaos. Sirius also works in WAR, in a position significantly higher than Hermione, as he says he has some influence at the top, but not *the* top. Now, the Belligerents want to have a spy in the ranks of WAR, so they send Harry to go get himself in. On Harry's personal side, this means that he has to go back to his past and confront all these people that he, yes, abandoned. He's met Hermione and Sirius, they're just ecstatic to see him, and after a few well-chosen comments about kittens and Disney movies everything is fine and dandy. And being back with those two seems to be making Harry reconsider just how loyal he is with the Belligerents . . . And to make matters really bad, Dumbledore, the all-knowing answer man of the wizarding world is gone, so there won't be any half hour adventure climax where all you've got to do is hang on to the sorceror's stone until Dumbee gets there. At the present moment Harry is just about to start the WAR entrance exam and doesn't feel quite so cocky as he did when he began . . . "

Thank you, Padfoot. And because she explicitly commanded that I say this: Padfoot is wonderful!

P.S. If anyone can figure out where the titles for the chapters are coming from, I'll give you a . . . virtual cookie! Once I find out how to send it through email, of course . . . (Padfoot and Prongs, you're excluded from this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, because I know you know the answer). Anyway, on to the purpose of this story:

Belligerence

Chapter Four - Slowly I Become One with the Mud

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Name: Harry James Potter

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Age: 23

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Birthdate: July 31, 1980

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Occupation:None to date.

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Address: Apt. 2B, 23 Rodney St., Islington, London

****

Skills/Background:   
Sole survivor of Killing Curse  
Winner of 1994 Tri-Wizard Tournament at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
Final Defeat of Lord Voldemort in 1998

****

Wizarding Wireless-Generated Codename: Achilles

"I must admit, that's an impressive resume. Especially given the fact that it's less than half of your past experiences."

Harry shrugged dismally as he looked off to the side in feigned disinterest. It was common practice in Belligerent standards to avoid being eager about anything - especially new jobs. "I was really just doing it off the top of my head. Besides, I don't want to look conceited or anything."

A vague smile twitched at the corners of Griffen's mouth, but he merely shook his head. "Of all wizards in this day and age, Mr. Potter, you are most worthy of being conceited. History books sans your name are already extinct. I must say, it's an honor for you to even be in my office."

Harry's ears were turning bright red, and he could feel the blood creeping down his neck. It wasn't the first time that someone had said this. Zeusia had been rather shocked when he showed up in her office five years ago. But she had been more nervous about his ability in combat than acquiring his name in her ranks. It had been a refreshing experience for him. Everyone else had been clamoring for his attention at the time. 

It had been Dumbledore's idea. "They used to be a league against Voldemort, last I heard. But now that there's no more Voldemort, there's no need for them. I imagine, if there's evil in the world – and there always will be – they'll be fighting it. No matter what form it may take," he had said. Next thing Harry knew, he was running an obstacle course filled with Dark creatures and spells blasting at him from all sides – all to be greeted at the end with Zeusia's stern smile and a brand-new uniform. 

He had a feeling that he wouldn't have to prove himself here.

"Potter, I would be lying if I said that I didn't want you to join. But I can't just wave you in . . . believe me, I wish I could. But there's the matter of making sure you're qualified." Harry sighed, readjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose as he straightened himself in the leather chair. "I understand. You're not the first person to say that to me. I've done those kind of tests before."

Griffen averted his gaze from Harry, staring down at the nearly blank resume in front of him. "Yes, well, I'm afraid they aren't tests."

"What else could they be?"

"They're more like . . . evaluations." 

Harry smirked to himself, slouching down once more. He set his lips back into a line as Griffen's gaze swept back to Harry, the latter emitting the glow of his laid-back aura once more. "They're not very harmful, mind you. Just . . . different. And if you're not qualified, we have to doctor out every possible memory charm available to us, just to make you forget the experience. There's the high risk of making you forget more than we want you to, as well. It's really up to you . . . we hate the consequences, but it's the only way to be sure of ourselves."

"Well, I'm ready and willing." 

Griffen blinked in disbelief, staring at Harry for a moment in uncertainty. "Are – are you sure?" 

Harry smiled shakily, standing as he offered his hand to Griffen. "Positive. I've been through this before – I'm pretty sure I know what to expect." 

Griffen smiled as he took Harry's hand, clasping it in his own. "Well, then . . . Merlin be with you, Harry. I'll see you in t - " 

Before Harry had a chance to respond, he felt a jerk behind his knees and the room fell away, leaving him weightless and suspended in mid-air. The next thing he knew, his vision had been licked away and he was lying on his back, the stone floor beneath him chilling his skin through the thin Oxford shirt and khaki slacks he wore. He reached a hand up to his face to secure his glasses, but found that they had already flown off. He cursed silently and looked around once more, noting that he couldn't distinguish any movement around him because of the absence of his glasses. He lifted his face towards the dim torchlight that skirted the empty room, almost smiling as it reminded him of Hogwarts. Looking away from the light, he squinted at the rest of the room, feeling the floor for his wire frames. "Hello?" he called. 

He thought he may have heard an answer, but the throbbing pain he was experiencing in the back of his head dulled his senses momentarily. He groaned aloud, pulling himself into a sitting position as he clutched one hand to his skull, massaging the lump he felt forming underneath his hair. 

"Well, if it isn't Harry Potter, himself." 

Harry's hand fell from his face, his eyes widening in astonishment. Surely, it couldn't be. . . could it? Maddeningly, he groped along the floor for his glasses, finally finding them perched just to his left, the thin frames barely skewed from the contact. Haphazardly, he shoved them back on his nose, blinking at the change in focus. Draco Malfoy stepped out of the shadows of the torch-lit room, an acidic smirk gracing his face. His hands were tucked neatly in his pockets and he slouched ever-so-slightly – just enough to give him a malicious stature – as the back-lighting from the flickering flames set off a stark contrast along the outline of his languid body. His hair had grown longer than Harry ever remembered it. It was now ear-length, the silver strands of silk draping over his forehead and dangling before his cold eyes. Harry drew in a sharp breath, instinctively drawing away from his life-long enemy, scuttling backwards like a crab. Draco's smirk weakened for but a moment at Harry's reaction, but he quickly reasserted himself, drawing his chin higher as he regarded the dark-haired man that scurried away from him.

"So we meet again, Harry." 

Harry finally felt a solid surface behind him, wincing as his head came in contact with the stone wall. He placed his hands behind him, using the wall for support as he staggered to his feet – suddenly becoming even more aware of the dull pain in the back of his head. He trained his eyes on Draco, anticipating every slight of hand that the Malfoy might pull. He swallowed thickly at Draco's words, and found that his voice had escaped him temporarily, so he merely narrowed his eyes at Draco in answer.

Draco found this funny. "Cat got your tongue, Harry? Or should I say rat?" 

Harry cleared his throat, struggling to find some sort of witty retort off the top of his head, but there was no doing. "Y-you're dead, Malfoy. All the Malfoys are dead." His eyes began scanning the expanse of the room, searching for any possible exits - be it window, door, or heating grate. He bit his lip as he came to the conclusion that he was quite stuck.

Draco looked genuinely disappointed in him. "Your first words to me in six years, and that's all you can say? Weren't you festering over insults for me, all this time? You could have thought of something much better to say, surely. I expected more from you, Potter." 

"Needless to say, I could care less." 

Draco held up his hands in defense. "Now, now. No need to get offensive, Mr. Potter. We're here to discuss business, are we not?" 

Harry drew himself away from the comfort of the wall, but kept one hand firmly attached to it, to steady himself, as he found his legs unsupportive of his full body weight. "I don't do business with Malfoys." His eyes were now preoccupied with scanning the walls for any doors or windows, but he saw none.

Draco's smirk flicked into a wide grin, his perfectly straight teeth gleaming behind pale lips in the torchlight. "Oh, come on Potter. We both know that B-movie dialogue went out with the '70's."

Harry's glare turned full-force on Draco. "Don't mess with me, Malfoy. Your family's dead, you've disappeared, and you have no place in the world any longer. I've made a name for myself. I could get you deported with the flick of a wand, if I so wished." 

Draco's grin faltered, but he paid it no heed. "You don't know what you're talking about." 

"Oh, I know perfectly well what I'm talking about and I mean every word of it. Send me back to Griffen's office and I'll leave you alone. Keep me here, and you're dead meat." 

"Except for one thing."

"Oh?"

"You don't know where 'here' is."

Harry tore his gaze away from Draco once again, glimpsing the surroundings of the room in which they stood. Still, he saw nothing but stone walls and torches spanning the walls at three- or four-meter intervals. No tapestries portraying wizard or Muggle history, no carpets spread along the floors, no velvet-covered chairs placed comfortably around a hearth – there wasn't even a hearth to begin with. It was a cold, damp room, and the only other cold, damp room that Harry knew of belonged underground in a certain castle situated north of England.

"This can't be Hogwarts. Hogwarts was destroyed years ago," he finally said. 

"Was it?" Draco responded. He tilted his head slightly, offering Harry an inquisitive expression as he pursed his lips in thought. "No," he added, "I don't think it was. I think you imagined it."

"You're more of an idiot than I thought you were. Hogwarts was burned to the ground years ago," Harry snapped back. 

Draco couldn't help letting out a quiet laugh as he let his head fall forwards, shaking it back and forth in amusement. "How little you know, Potter. How painfully little." 

"Spare me the formalities, Malfoy. I never did enjoy your method of communication." 

"What method would that be?" Draco asked, a single eyebrow raised in amusement as he lifted his head to meet Harry's gaze – cold sapphires landing on fiery emeralds. 

Harry half-smiled to himself as he looked away in thought, letting his gaze land on the flickering light across the room from where he stood. "You just love beating around the bush, don't you? Confusing the enemy into submission until they no longer want to deny your falsities. It was the only strength you ever had, apart from your two goons." 

"I never had 'goons.' I never wanted them. I hated them."

"Then why use them against everyone?"

"I was taught to use everything to my best advantage. Even you should have expected that from me." 

Harry snapped his eyes back to Draco's face, taking in the set jaw and tightly-lipped mouth. He narrowed his eyes considerably, setting his own jaw firmly as he found himself glaring at the pale man. "Oh, I don't know, Draco. I thought I knew 'painfully little,'" he retorted, his voice dripping with acid.

Draco looked as though he were about to lash out at something, anything, but he maintained his self-control, pulling his hands from his pockets and clenching them into fists, flexing them out again, over and over. He met Harry's glare with one of equal contempt, taking a step towards him. "You know nothing, Potter. You know nothing about what's going on under your own nose. Your friends are dying and you can't stop it. Your sanctuary is a shambles and your beloved Dumbledore is dead. You know nothing, Potter."

Harry's glare softened slightly as he furrowed his brows in confusion at Draco's words, but he said nothing. A few spiteful words were lingering on his lips, but he stopped them out of curiosity. Draco had been absent from public view for the greater part of five years now – how was it feasible that he could know so much?

"Hogwarts – the building – is gone. But everything it stood for is intact. It's a matter of locating it."

"You don't know what you're talking about." 

Draco smirked again, his taut lips stretching even further over his thin face. "Oh, don't I? Why don't you ask Hermione? Surely she wouldn't keep secrets from you, now would she?" Harry then lunged at Draco – why, he did not know, but his furor was met with a square punch to the jaw from Malfoy. He sent his own fists flying, occasionally making contact with a soft body, satisfied with the alien feeling of skin contacting skin and the moment of pain coursing through his own nerves afterwards. The throbbing in his skull vanished as he was consumed with vengeance, letting his stress and built-up anger flee his psyche through his fists and well-placed kicks.

It wasn't until Draco stopped fighting back that Harry realized he was alone on the floor – and that the floor was no longer stone. Rather, it was a plush white carpet beneath him, and there was someone grabbing his shoulder, trying to still him. He paused, rolling himself over for a better look, and was met with Griffen's face hovering over him; concern mixed with confusion in his pained expression as a red welt grew steadily just below his left eye. Harry winced at the sight, realizing that he had been the cause. 

"Harry! Get a grip on yourself, for heaven's sake!" 

Harry gently shoved the older man away, pulling himself slowly to a sitting position and groaning softly as the throbbing returned to his skull. "Griffen. . . what happened. . . ?" he moaned softly. Griffen sat back on his heels, watching Harry steadily as he shook his head. 

"I was just about to tell you about your first evaluation, when you just keeled over. . . I tried to wake you up, but you kept mumbling about Hogwarts. And then you punched me. Pretty good aim for being unconscious."

Harry flinched again, meeting Griffen's eyes shyly. "I'm sorry . . . it wasn't meant for you, trust me . . ." 

Griffen nodded silently, clambering to his feet and offering a hand down to Harry. Harry took it gratefully, standing up on shaky feet as his mind dizzied for a moment. "I know," Griffen answered. "It was meant for Malfoy."

Harry gave him a look of alarm, but Griffen merely waved it off. "You kept shouting 'Malfoy!' as you were punching me," he clarified. 

Harry sighed, dragging a hand through his mussed hair as he let out a breath. "Really, I must apologize again," he said softly. "I don't know what that was . . . a dream, I'm assuming . . . "

Griffen only waved it off. "It's all right, Harry. You must be unaccustomed to the safety charms we've got set up around here. Sometimes they make people dizzy, but I've never heard of anyone passing out before . . . " Harry's ears reddened considerably. Griffen offered him a half-smile as he continued. "As for beating me to a pulp, don't worry. I've taken my share of beatings in past years. It won't affect your evaluation at all. It was out of your control."

But as Griffen went on to explain the exact time and date for his WAR evaluation, Harry found his mind wandering rather relentlessly. He wasn't quite sure if anything was in his control anymore.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Harry, do you want anything? I'm going to the store."

Harry glanced up from the television, shrugging in disinterest. "If you see something you think I'd want, get it. Otherwise, no."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Thank you for the insightful suggestion. I'll keep that in mind." She whirled around to face Sirius, who was sprawled across an easy chair on the other end of the room, a _Witch Weekly_ open in his lap. Hermione snorted in laughter. "Would you like anything, Sirius? A bit of mascara, perhaps?"

Sirius was obviously not paying attention – he didn't even bother to look up as he nodded at her. Harry's attention was drawn away from the TV as he overheard Hermione's comment, raising a precarious eyebrow in amusement. 

"Sirius? Mascara? No, I think he's more the lipstick-and-blush type of guy," Harry said.

Hermione put a finger to her lips, nodding thoughtfully. "What shade of blush do you think? Nude or Cherry Pink?"

"Oh, the Nude, definitely," Sirius answered. He looked up then, his eyes twinkling as he flipped a page in the magazine. "And for your information, I have not decided to become a cross-dresser – I've merely discovered the wonderful recipes contained within the covers of this very-feminine magazine."

"Recipes?" Harry asked. 

Sirius shrugged. "I like food. I like good food. Therefore, I learn how to make good food."

"Well, you're certainly taking the bull by the horns, there," Hermione replied. She leaned toward him, peering at the article title. Her face broke out into a wide grin as she tottered back on her heels. "Do you want some mayonnaise to go in that "100 Ways to Win a Man" you'll be fixing us tonight?" she asked innocently.

Sirius glared at her. "Ex-convict here. Don't forget that."

"Oh, sure . . . amazing what you learn in jail cells!" she called over her shoulder as she headed towards the door. 

Sirius growled then, picking up the magazine and tossing it at her, but it landed on the closed door as she escaped just in time.

Harry shook his head as he laughed to himself, scooping up the remote control and flicking through a few TV stations. "You'll never win with her, Sirius," he said.

Sirius unfolded himself from the easy chair and strode into the kitchen, opening the fridge and ducking his head inside. "I know. But don't tell her that. We'll never hear the end of it." He emerged with a Fizzing Lemony in one hand and a wide grin on his face. "When was the last time I had this stuff, man? Must have been fifth year . . . "

Harry peered around the doorway from where he sat, one eyebrow raised. "What is it? I've been confined to water and company-issued meals for the past five years."

Sirius made a face as he popped open the tab and took a swig from the aluminum can. He grinned as he swallowed, his eyes screwing up slightly at the taste. "Fizzing Lemony! The most sour stuff you can imagine – with enough sugar and caffeine to leave you hyper for days."

Harry finally got up from the couch and joined Sirius, shaking his head. "What _is_ it with you and caffeine these days?"

"What do you mean?"

"First it was the coffee, now you're getting hyper off that . . . that _stuff_ . . . I'm beginning to worry about you."

Sirius merely grinned, tipping his head back as he took another swig. "Don't worry, Harry. The Muggles have much worse alternatives."

Harry stepped over to the cabinet above the sink and pulled out a box of crackers. "Yeah, I know," he replied. He flipped open the box lid and started munching on a few saltines. "I know all too well."

Sirius raised an eyebrow, setting the can down on the counter and stealing a few of Harry's crackers. "Do you?"

Harry nodded, leaning back against the counter and crossing his ankles. "There was a lot of drug trafficking in the Belligerents. Lot of OD's, too." 

Sirius tilted his head thoughtfully, nibbling on one of the saltines. "You weren't into that stuff, though, were you?"

"Merlin, no. I had a friend that was, though."

"What happened?"

Harry turned to face Sirius, a decidedly blank look on his face. "I've seen a lot of death in my life, Sirius. But none as meaningless as that."

"I bet I have."

Harry frowned as he looked towards the floor and leaned his elbows on the edge of the counter. "I don't doubt it. But that's what the Belligerents were all about, you know? The more destruction, the easier it is to kill the enemy. We just seemed to destroy ourselves more than anything else."

"So you've decided to leave them?"

Harry shrugged, oblivious to the piece of ebony hair that swung down into his eyes, resting on the wire frame of his glasses, and lost himself in a moment of indecision. He could still hear Zeusia's instructions echoing in his thoughts: "Just tell them that you want to quit the Belligerents and join WAR. They shouldn't question that motivation." But he hated lying to his godfather. He lifted his head, glancing towards the older man in contemplation. "Well . . . to be honest . . . "

Sirius nodded for him to continue.

"Well, I'm not sure if I'm quitting yet or not."

There was silence for a moment, but Sirius did not seem disappointed. He merely shrugged and grabbed a few more crackers. Harry blew out a breath and turned to face him, pushing himself off of the counter. "I figured you'd be mad for that one," he said quietly.

Sirius merely shrugged. "I can't be mad. It's your decision, Harry. I trust you to make the right one . . . and to know that the Belligerents are a bunch of whiny twits that don't know the difference between a Levitating Charm and the Killing Curse – but that's besides the point."

Harry half-smiled as he reached for the Fizzing Lemony. "You're right. They really are quite ruthless. But they're good people." He lifted the can of soda to his lips, tasting it tentatively.

Sirius looked like he was about to speak, but held back as Harry's face contorted into a look of disgust.

"What _is_ this?" he exclaimed.

Sirius grinned toothily at him. "I was about to say – be careful on the first taste. It's a doozy."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

The turntable was churning slowly; needle scratching on old black vinyl. Its slowed rotation resulted in nothing more appealing than nails scratching a blackboard – there was no music to be heard at a 10 RPM speed. But it didn't matter very much, as the record was broken, anyway. It simply kept repeating the same line, "Lost the plot," over and over – so painstakingly slow that Harry was about to rip the needle off, yank the record from the turntable, and break it over his knee. But his nerves kept his aggressive actions in check, willing him to stay seated in the leather armchair. Griffen would be back at any moment, and it would not do Harry's evaluation any good to be caught destroying company property. Especially if the record happened to be a favorite of Griffen's (which he found highly possible). 

So he simply closed his eyes and started humming – rather loudly, in fact. It droned out the noise coming from the record, but it didn't help his concentration by any means. He caught himself cringing a few times at his own lack of musical prowess, but he kept going, satisfied to be relieved of the horrific noise. And then the music stopped. Not with the slow winding-down that he was accustomed to, that slowing of the tempo and the softening of the tone. It ended abruptly, caught somewhere between a B-flat and G, just before it progressed to an arpeggio. He had the music memorized by that point, and was rather surprised by the sudden ending – it was awkward, at the very least. But then again, maybe the record wasn't broken – maybe it was some 1960's whacked-out orchestration that was intended to make any sober person's mind ache – but stimulate the brain of someone on narcotics. Maybe John Lennon wrote it. 

The turntable stopped as he opened his eyes and ceased his incessant humming, raising an eyebrow at the still needle and dusty vinyl. It was almost eerie in the silence that followed – the last notes of the song were still hanging in the air, clinging to his memory like a bad aftertaste, but there was no more to be heard. Even the soft whir of the wizard clock had diminished to something undetectable by human ears. He sat up in the armchair, his back achingly straight with anticipation – what was that? 

He jerked his head to the left, towards the main door, but saw nothing. Maybe he'd imagined hearing it open. Then again, he was quite accustomed to ghosts. Were there ghosts in the WAR office? The silence settling on the room was not typical of any ghosts he was familiar with. Nor did he know any invisible creatures that could –

Invisible. His Invisibility Cloak. 

No, that couldn't be right. The only people in London that knew he possessed one were Hermione and Sirius. Ron was abroad. Besides, even if Ron had come home, he had no way of knowing that Harry was back in London, thus he wouldn't know where to look for Harry or the Invisibility Cloak. It had to be Hermione or Sirius. But what would they want with him, now? 

He cleared his throat, alarmed to find his mouth completely dry. Hadn't he just had an entire glass of water? "Her-Hermione?" he croaked out. 

Silence.

"Sirius?" he tried. There! He heard it again . . . the faintest of scuffling along the wooden floor, that delicate sound of footsteps that his ear had been trained to after many late-night adventures at Hogwarts. He grinned to himself, hoping to catch the perpetrator off-guard. 

"Sirius? That's you, isn't it?"

But there was silence again, and he paused before rising from the chair, glancing behind his back a few times before looking towards the door again. "Well, it's either Hermione or Sirius," he said to himself. He kept staring at the door, rather undaunted by the sudden whooshing sound that came a moment later. But then standing between him and the door was a person – a very distinctly Hermione-person. 

Harry smirked to himself, crossing his arms over his chest in satisfaction. "Uh-huh . . . and who was right again?" 

Hermione blew a hair out of her face in exasperation, throwing him a death-glare. "Stop joking around, Harry. This is serious." 

He grinned. "No, Sirius is my godf-" 

But Hermione rolled her eyes, tossing the Cloak at him as she strode to Griffen's desk, yanking open the top right drawer. "Shut up. You were never very good at perception, were you?" she snapped. 

Harry blinked, catching the Cloak in one hand as he watched her with a slightly unhooked jaw. She had never been this outspoken before – ever. "What's wrong, Hermione?"

"What's wrong, Hermione?" she mimicked, looking up at him with a more-than-slightly perturbed look on her face. "Give it a rest, Harry. You know perfectly well what's wrong. It's Slytherin against Gryffindor, isn't it? What else could be wrong? Those damn Slytherins killed a whole camp full of Mudbloods, and the Ministry's rushing for the opportunity to blame it on us." 

"Us? WAR, you mean?"

"Yes, WAR. They hate us – they won't even tolerate us. They want us obliterated. Merlin knows why, but they're certain that we're disciples of Voldemort or something. We've got to withdraw any and all files that might connect us to the concentration camps . . . that includes my personals."

Harry crossed over to her, leaning against the mahogany desk as he lowered his voice to a private tone that – he hoped – would not be detected by the recording devices stationed around the room. "Your personals? What does that have to do with it?" 

"I'm the entire "camp branch" of the business, Harry. I'm the only one that goes to the camps, the only one that knows anything about them. Any files I've recorded will be used as fodder against us – guaranteed." She plopped down into Griffen's deskchair, scooting towards his Wizarding Terminal and pulling up a few of her written files on ParchWorks. Harry could only watch in a dumb stupor as she deleted every last word she'd written in the past five years, grimacing as she flipped through a few of the more gruesome details. 

"Hermione, you really don't need to delete everything, do - ?" She waved him off, clicking the close button on the monitor, and the computer vanished into thin air. 

"Yes, Harry, I did need to delete everything, because this only gives them one more excuse to kill me." He blinked, uncertain of how to respond to such a statement. "Lucius Malfoy's dead, but they still have me on their hitlist. I'm not even supposed to exist. As far as you know, Harry Potter, I was never born. Understood?" 

He nodded dumbly, only vaguely aware that his worst fear had come true – but only on a surreal level. He gripped the edge of the wooden desk with numb fingers, barely noticing as she stepped away from him and headed towards the door. As her hand landed on the knob, he whirled around quickly, reaching out a hand to stop her. She glanced at him over her shoulder, hand still firmly placed on the doorknob.

"Where are you going?" he asked quietly, in the same undertone as before. 

She shrugged his hand off of her shoulder and looked towards the ceiling for a moment, biting her lip in thought. "Probably Canada. I can live as a Muggle there, no problem." 

He let his outstretched hand fall back to his side and sighed quietly. "I'm coming with you," he said softly – barely loud enough for her to hear him, but enough to make her pause even longer. 

"You can't be serious," she answered.

He shrugged, raking an idle hand through his dark mass of hair. "Sirius is living in America, isn't he? I'd rather live with you and be closer to him than sit here and watch the Ministry tear everything apart."

And then Hermione vanished.

He blinked in astonishment, whirling around the room to see if she had Apparated to another corner. But no . . . Hogwarts had been destroyed just before she would have received her Apparating License – she had no way of doing it. He looked down at his arms, noting with some puzzlement that he was still clutching the Invisibility Cloak in one hand, its crystalline shimmer of fabric dangling from his fingertips. 

"Hermione?" he croaked out. 

There was the sound of someone clapping. A whistle – and was that a catcall!? He whirled around to the door again, and there in the doorway stood the terrible threesome, as he would come to call them: Hermione, Sirius, and Griffen. Griffen was clapping his hands together roughly, Hermione was whistling, and Sirius had his fingers firmly planted in his mouth, catcalling like there was no tomorrow. 

Understanding suddenly dawned on him, and he fell backwards – thankfully, right into the leather armchair that he had occupied only a few moments earlier, the Invisibility Cloak drifting out of his grasp. 

Griffen strode forward, catching the Cloak in his hands and handing it to Hermione, who whisked it around her shoulders. "Congratulations, Mr. Potter. You passed the exam." 

Harry lifted weary eyes to Griffen's beaming face, but was not amused. "You must be joking," he replied.

Sirius joined them, shaking his head at Harry's blatant denial. "The tests here aren't those of courage, Harry. They're to measure what extent one would go to for others. In your case, you agreed to abandon the only world you've ever known to be of aid to Hermione in a time of need." He merely grinned at Harry's scowl. "All right, so it's psychological and a tad cliché. It still worked, didn't it?" 

Harry blinked as a sudden thought struck him. _The Belligerents never took that into consideration . . . _But he merely shrugged from his seat, ignoring the sudden revelation. "I'd say it was bit vague – you could also interpret my actions as simply selfish," he told them.

Sirius looked to Griffen, who was rolling his eyes. "Harry, it wasn't selfish. If you were being selfish, you wouldn't have cared to stay within a fifty-mile vicinity after Hermione told you that the Ministry wanted her dead – anyone thought to be associated with her would automatically be put on their hitlist, as well. A fact I'm sure you're well-aware of." 

Harry nodded grimly, glancing towards what could be seen of Hermione's body, as she was only partially concealed by the Cloak. "I've known that for five years." 

Griffen nodded, a bit of a twinkle in his eyes that painfully reminded Harry of Albus Dumbledore. "And that only goes to show what the true meaning behind your actions was." 

Sirius then took over, waving his hand in front of Griffen, signaling for silence. He bowed down before Harry, whisking his arms around his middle in a grand fashion, the shaggy strands of his midnight-black hair falling around his face as it lowered to the ground. "Mr. Harry Potter," he announced, straightening back up, "I invite you to a dinner specially prepared by one Sirius Black and one Hermione Granger, specifically for the purpose of congratulating your acceptance into the Wizards Aiding Rebels Organization." 

Harry couldn't help grinning as a sudden thought occurred to him. Hermione rose an eyebrow in a half-scowl as she saw the playful grin, and yanked the Cloak over her head, tossing it at him. "What's so funny?" she asked. 

He shook his head, rubbing at his brow as he fought back the laughter, after catching the Cloak once more. "Oh, just wondering if "100 Ways to Win a Man was included in the recipe." 

Griffen blinked in confusion while Sirius looked away and pretended not to hear. But Hermione laughed, ticking the first few lines of the _Witch Weekly_ article off as she headed out of the room, Harry close behind her.

Griffen and Sirius exchanged glances, shrugging in unison as they followed. "I have no idea what's so funny," Sirius told Griffen.


End file.
